Darling
by cherry-sodas
Summary: At six years old, Jane Randle's favorite movie was 'Peter Pan.' [AU. Embedded into the 'Arrogance and Aggression' universe.]


Darling

**This story, which takes place in the 'Arrogance and Aggression' universe (Gosh, do I even need to **_**specify **_**at this point? Maybe, if I ever stop apologizing for redeeming Dally.), follows my still-underexplored OC, Jane Randle (Steve's sister, younger by about a year). I've always planned to nuance Jane as a character in the expanded universe, and this is the venue to start it.**

**A few continuity things are different in my universe than in the novel. OK, it's really just one thing. In the novel, Sandy's departure coincides with Ponyboy and Johnny's running away. In my universe, while the former happens, the latter **_**does not. **_**So, for the purposes of my canon, Sandy leaves Soda a few months after the Curtises' accident. I know it's not how it happens in the book, but to make my infuriatingly chipper "Everyone is alive!" AU work, that's how I bent the rules.**

**One content warning, too: The postpartum depression/bathtub scene from "I'll Be Your Mirror" is told here from Jane's perspective. It's dark. The subheading is "1985," and you can skip it if you need to.**

**Without further ado…**

* * *

_1955_

At six years old, Jane Randle's favorite movie was _Peter Pan_.

She'd seen it at the theater with her mother and Steve on a Saturday afternoon when their father was … well; Jane was never quite sure where her father went on Friday nights or Saturday afternoons. At six years old, she knew it was easier not to ask. Last time she'd been curious, Mama looked like she might cry, or worse. It was easier to go along with it when Mama asked her to put on her shoes so they could go down to the movies. After all, the sun was too hot to play outside for very long, even though Sadie Curtis had asked her if she wanted to play.

In truth, Jane was a little relieved not to have to play with Sadie that day. Where Jane liked to play house, Sadie was more interested in running around Crutchfield Park until her hands were all blistered from crossing the monkey bars and her knees were red with scabs; green with grass stains. Sadie liked to get dirty. Jane liked to stay clean. It was always easier at home when she stayed clean.

Jane was enchanted with the movie. She loved Wendy's pretty voice and her blue nightgown. The one she had at home would have been just like it if not for the hole at the bottom. Steve warned her not to pull at that loose thread, but she didn't listen. At six years old (and, as she would eventually learn, for her entire life), she made it a goal to do exactly the opposite of what her older brother suggested, just to get his goat.

She was also taken with the pixie dust and the thought that all she'd have to do was think of happy little thoughts, and she'd be able to fly, too. She loved Tinkerbell, and she loved the mermaids, even though they were mean. The name _Tigerlily _was so beautiful to her. She had seen a picture of a real Tiger Lily flower in a book that Sadie checked out from the local library, and she fell in love with it. To think that she could name a whole person Tigerlily … that sounded wonderful to her. Jane decided she would add it to her list of happy thoughts, in case she ever really needed to fly away from her home.

Months passed. Jane still hadn't stopped thinking about _Peter Pan_. She saw the record – the one with the songs from the movie – in the store when she was with Steve and his friends, and when she made a big deal about wishing she could have it, Sodapop Curtis, Steve's best friend, pulled together enough money from his folks to buy it for her. Jane couldn't have been more surprised when he handed her that record if she tried to be. Soda just stood there, smiling from one ear to the other, sticking the record out for her to take it. It was all hers.

"Did you buy it yourself?" Jane asked.

Soda nodded.

"Well, my mama and my daddy helped me out," he said. "When I told 'em it was for you, they said they'd be happy to … 's long 's I gave it to you all by myself."

Jane finally took the record from Soda and pressed it to her chest. Her smile was about big enough to match his. It was then that she looked into his eyes – dark brown and grinning, just like Sadie's, and yet so different – and she realized what Wendy Darling must have felt like when she met Peter Pan. She thought of how Wendy told Peter she'd like to give him a kiss. The longer six-year-old Jane Randle looked at six-year-old Sodapop Curtis, the more she understood how Wendy must have been feeling that night in the nursery.

"Soda?" she asked. For a few years afterward, she thought she sounded so grown up when she said it. It wasn't until she was much older that she realized just how little six years old really was.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to give you … a kiss."

"Huh?"

Jane didn't answer, nor did she wait for Soda to say that she could kiss him. She was six years old, and she didn't know about those things yet. She only knew that when you were in love with somebody (And Jane was quite sure she was in love with Sodapop.), you were supposed to want to kiss that person. It was how she knew that her parents weren't in love. For as long as she could remember, she had never seen them kiss. It was going to be different for her. It had to be. After all, Sodapop Curtis had bought her the _Peter Pan _record – what she wanted more than anything in the world. It was probably the world's quickest kiss, but for six-year-old Jane, it felt like romantic eternity.

When she took her lips off Soda's lips, she smiled at him like they were going to have a reception with their closest friends in a couple of hours. He just looked confused, like he couldn't have predicted Jane's kiss for the life of him. Much to Jane's dismay, Soda wiped the kiss off his little mouth. Jane's heart caved in.

"Jane!" he said. "You ain't supposed to kiss boys till you're old enough!"

"I _am _old enough!" Jane protested. She stomped her foot for good measure, too.

"You ain't 'cause I ain't!"

"That's a dumb rule, Sodapop Curtis!"

"It's _my _rule, Jane Randle! Take it back!"

"I will not!"

They both folded their tiny arms across their chests and stared at each other, fuming. Jane was mad that Soda hadn't fallen in love with her on the spot; Soda was mad that Jane thought she was old enough to kiss him out of the blue. Besides, Steve would make fun of him until the cows came home if he ever found out the truth. Right then and there, Soda decided that he would never tell Steve about Jane kissing him that day. He was sure Steve's opinion of him would always matter more than anyone's … _especially _more than _Jane's_. What didn't Jane understand? He was too young to kiss a girl, particularly if that girl was his best buddy's sister. It just wasn't what you did. At six years old, Soda knew that.

Jane looked down at her shoes in the grass. She wanted to disappear. How could Soda turn her away like this? He was Steve's best friend, which meant he knew her better than almost anyone. Didn't he understand? That much had to mean that they were meant to be married one day – happily married, like his folks, not like hers or Johnny Cade's or Dallas Winston's, either. He had to know that. When people kissed, it meant they had to get married. She wondered what happened to married people when they stopped kissing and knew, even at six years old, that she was probably going to find out sooner or later.

She looked down at the record that she was squeezing in between her tiny, sweaty hands. She put it out in front of her, almost like she was giving it back to Soda, but not quite. He wrinkled his little nose.

"What're you doin'?" he asked.

"Don't you want the record back?" Jane asked. "Ya know, since we ain't gonna get married?"

"Get married? Golly, you say funny things."

"Don't you want it?"

Soda shook his head. It was honest. Even at six years old, Jane Randle always could tell when Sodapop Curtis was being genuine with her. It made her tiny heart soar.

"Naw," he said. "I got it for you, darlin'."

After a little while, Steve showed up and wanted to play with Soda; Sadie showed up and wanted (or at least was made to) to play with Jane. But that whole day and into the night, when she and Steve sat on her bed, holed up and waiting for their father to stop screaming at their mother for another thing that didn't seem worth screaming about, Jane managed to turn the _Peter Pan _record and the kiss with Soda into one of her happy thoughts. A slow smile crept across her face as she remembered Soda's eyes.

She thought it was going to take her to fly away. It didn't, but boy, did she feel lighter when she remembered that feeling.

* * *

_1960_

At eleven years old, Jane Randle was beyond excited because they were going to show a _Peter Pan _musical on television right before Christmas.

Though she knew she probably seemed a little too old for it, she still loved _Peter Pan _very much. She listened to the record from the Disney movie that Soda got her when they were just six years old so often that it was dented and skipped like crazy on "You Can Fly, You Can Fly, You Can Fly!" She never bothered to replace it since the memory of Soda's bright, smiling eyes when he handed it to her was just too happy and too powerful to let go of. She didn't mind the skipping as long as she remembered the gleam in Soda's eye. It was just too sweet.

Jane and Steve's father was planning on hogging their television set all night long (like he did after a particularly nasty fight with their mother), so when Jane found out about the _Peter Pan _musical on TV, she was quick to ask Mr. and Mrs. Curtis if she could watch it at their house. Mrs. Curtis was all too happy to make an evening out of it. She lived for making a big deal out of the tiniest things. It wasn't until Jane herself was a grown-up woman (which _did_ happen, despite her wishes that it wouldn't) that she realized why. It was what she was able to give, so she might as well have given it her all.

Sadie was really excited to watch the musical with Jane. She wasn't the biggest fan of _Peter Pan _that there ever was, since Sadie was really more of a _Cinderella _kind of girl. But since they'd worked their way through grammar school together, Sadie and Jane learned to be real friends, not just girls who spent time together because their brothers were best buddies. They were the only ones watching the TV for quite some time. Darry was already fourteen, so he was out with a girl from his class, which seemed to disappoint Sadie. When Jane asked her why, Sadie simply shrugged and said, "I liked it when he was pretending not to listen to me watch TV. At least he was still there." Jane thought about that for a minute and wondered if she'd ever think of Steve that way. She figured not. They were too close in age – too close in proximity. She'd never have the chance to miss him for as long as they lived, she thought. Even on that night they watched the _Peter Pan _musical, Steve was hanging out in Soda's room, doing something or other that boys did. Now that she was eleven, Jane noticed that there were more differences between boys and girls than similarities. For one thing, she was beginning to look at Soda differently than she looked at him when they were just ten. She'd always supposed they would fall in love one day, especially after the kiss she gave him when they were six years old. But now that she was eleven, the idea of kissing meant something different. It felt different – more grown-up, even if she was still young. Jane couldn't explain it, though she felt it in her bones all the time.

Once Peter had taken the Darling children to Neverland (and Jane was becoming particularly sucked into the story unfolding before her), Soda and Steve came careening out of Soda's room, in the middle of some game that the girls didn't understand. They stopped in front of the TV and watched for a moment. In 1960, no one could resist the electric glow of a television set.

"What's goin' on?" Soda asked.

"It's _Peter Pan_," Jane said. "I thought ya said ya didn't wanna watch it with us."

"We don't," Steve answered on Soda's behalf.

"Aww, c'mon, man. We can watch it for a little bit, can't we?"

Steve sighed. He was turning thirteen that April and becoming more interested in cars and girls by the day. Those girls didn't include his sister, no matter how nice Soda said he ought to be to her. Steve didn't see the point in hanging around Jane, since she was only eleven and acted just like an eleven-year-old. She was too much like a kid for him to hang around her for real, unless they were in their house, hiding out from another one of their parents' explosive screaming matches. But Soda didn't need to know that. He needed to think of Steve as his cooler, slightly older friend. Of course, unbeknownst to Steve, Soda wasn't really interested in growing older. He was more interested in being newly twelve years old.

All Steve could manage was, "Whatever."

Soda took a seat next to Jane on the couch, which made her blush something awful. It didn't matter that it had been five years since he gave her that_ Peter Pan _record and she kissed him for it. Every time Jane looked at Soda – every time someone simply said his name – she turned bright red and thought about what it would be like to hold his hand. She thought about saying something to him, but then Peter began to sing about Wendy to the Lost Boys. That was when Soda tapped Jane on the shoulder.

"Soda!" Sadie said. "Don't bother Jane. She wants to watch this!"

"I'm just askin' her a question," Soda said. "Hey, Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"How come they're singin' about Wendy bein' their mother?"

"That's why he brought her to Neverland," Steve said before Jane could even open her mouth. "Ain't you seen the cartoon?"

"I ain't askin' you!" Soda said. "I'm tryin' to talk to your sister."

"I seen that cartoon too many times 'cause of her. Talkin' to her is the same as talkin' to me."

Soda waved his hand at Steve and tried to talk to Jane again. She smiled and tried to speak through the blush she knew was creeping up her cheeks.

"Steve's right," Jane said. "Peter brought her there to be a mother for the Lost Boys. Somebody to make 'em pockets and read them stories."

"You'd fuckin' know that if you were listenin' to the TV," Steve said.

Soda turned around to face Steve and pointed one skinny finger at him – a warning.

"You better not say that again," Soda said. "My mama's readin' a book in her room, and she won't let us say that word till we turn thirteen. Me and Sadie just got permission to say _ass _for our twelfth birthday. Didn't we, Sadie?"

Sadie nodded. "We've been makin' as much use of it as we can, too. 'Cept sayin', 'What the ass?' just don't pack the same punch."

Soda laughed a little and then tapped Jane on the shoulder again. In a way, she wished he would stop doing that. It made her feel helpless, and as a tough girl in the neighborhood, there was nothing Jane Randle hated more than feeling helpless. There was something about Soda that always made her lose her cool. It was the worst and the best feeling all the same.

"See, ya know, I get that," Soda said. "But how come he takes her to Neverland to be their mother if Neverland is where ya go to never grow up? Mothers are supposed to be grown-ups, ain't they?"

Jane nodded. "They're supposed to be, sure. But they ain't all the time. Did you know Dally's mother was only twenty-four when she …"

She stopped herself. It had been about two years since Dallas Winston's mother turned up dead in the bathroom … since he got on a bus and left to live in New York City all by himself, leaving his sister behind. But Dally's mother was twenty-four on the day she died, and Dally was ten when he found her body, which meant that Dally's mother was fourteen when she gave birth to him. That about scared Jane something awful when she found out. There was a part of her that wanted to be older – more romantic and more sophisticated – but that didn't include becoming a mother before she had a high-school diploma. She had other things she wanted to do. She might not have been clear on what they were yet, but she knew they were out there waiting for her. There had to be a way to be both young and old at the same time, she supposed. Maybe once Steve turned thirteen in the spring, he could let her know.

"Well, mothers should be grown-ups," Jane finally said.

"So it's creepy if Peter Pan wants a kid to be his mother, ain't it?"

Jane tried to answer, but she came up empty. In all the years she'd loved _Peter Pan_, she'd never seen it that way. She just saw it as a nice story about a boy who loved a girl so much he was willing to let her go. Why didn't Soda see it the same way she did? Why was Soda so hung up on this idea of growing up and not growing up? Didn't he see that wasn't the point? The point was that Peter loved Wendy, and with a little magic, you could fly. Growing up, for Jane, was something to almost look forward to.

"I guess so," Jane said. "I never really thought of it that way."

"That's funny," Soda said. "I always did. Hey, Jane?"

"I'm listenin'."

"What do you think about growin' up?"

Jane bristled. It was a strange question coming from Soda. Not only was he a fellow kid, but also, he never struck Jane as particularly thoughtful about that kind of stuff. Since they were six years old, she thought Soda was cute and charming. That much was virtually undeniable. But as they got older, and she saw some of the grades he made on his tests and themes in English class, she wondered if he was as bright as Darry (or as bright as everybody claimed his little brother, Ponyboy, was going to be). It didn't really bother her if Soda was smart or not. He was sweet and always thought to include her even when Steve didn't. In a million years, however, she never would have thought that Soda would ask her a question like that. It was a shock, but Jane welcomed it with open arms, as she always did when it came to Sodapop Curtis.

"I don't know," Jane said, though it wasn't exactly true. It was just the way she thought girls were supposed to answer boys' questions. She'd read enough girly magazines in her eleven years to know that if you wanted a boy's attention, you had to make him think that he had all the ideas, even the ones that really belonged to you. One time, she told Sadie about that, and Sadie looked at her like she had spiders crawling out of her ears. Secretly, tough-as-nails Jane knew there was something wrong with that, but she held onto it in case it was true. Her mother always took a very hard line with her father, after all, and they were a far cry away from happy. Maybe if Jane learned how to do the opposite (even if she were only pretending), she could find some way to be happy once she was a grown-up.

A grown-up. So, maybe it was inevitable.

"C'mon," Soda said. "You gotta have _some _sort of thought."

"I don't know, Soda. I guess what I think is … I'm gonna grow up. I'm gonna have a family of my own, probably. Cook 'em dinner, get 'em clothes, and all that stuff that mamas are supposed to do."

Soda made a face, which immediately concerned Jane.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Why're you lookin' at me like that? You ain't thinkin' about that time when we was little, and I kissed you, are ya?"

This time, it was Soda's turn to blush. He hid his smile in the neck of his shirt and waited a moment until he regained his composure. Although he was a year younger than Steve, he was beginning to pick up on his friend's increasing interest in cars and girls. But why _Jane Randle_? Why would he find himself drawn to his best friend's little sister, not to mention his twin sister's best friend? It was almost a little gross when he thought about it, which he did, though not for very long. At twelve years old, Soda couldn't seem to find the patience to stick to one thought for very long. That was the thing that scared him most about growing up, if he ever had to do it. His folks had to focus on a lot of things all at once to take care of the kids and to earn money. He wasn't looking forward to it – any of it, really.

"Course not," Soda said, despite the fact that it was something of a lie. "I just don't know if it's for me."

"If _what's _for you?"

"Growin' up. I don't know if I'd be any good at it."

"Of course you'd be good at it. We're all built to grow up, ain't we?"

"Some folks, sure. But not all of 'em. And not me."

Jane frowned. If Soda didn't think he could grow up, then her dreams of one day kissing him for real and calling him her husband were shot to hell. Her heart shriveled up a little, but she'd never let on. She was too tough for that sort of thing.

"You don't wanna just _die, _do ya?" Jane asked. It was the most horrible thing she could think of – a world without Sodapop Curtis. The thought scared Sadie so much that she audibly gasped in the seat on the other side of Jane.

"Naw, I guess not," Soda said. "I just don't wanna grow up. Thinkin' there's gotta be a way to avoid it without dyin'."

"We could turn you into one of them vampires," Steve said. "Hear they live real long lives, and you're already used to the taste of blood in your mouth, what with all the fights we get in after school."

Jane balled her hands into uncomfortable fists. She wasn't exactly looking for a fight, although if provoked, she wasn't one to turn down a good brawl, even at the age of eleven. She was uncomfortable because she didn't like to picture a life without Soda, and by saying he wasn't sure he wanted to grow up, that was what she was forced to envision. Since she was just six, she dreamt of marrying Soda … having and raising a gaggle of children with him … being by his side at all times. Why didn't he want the same thing? Why didn't he want to grow up and be a man as badly as Jane wanted to grow up and be a woman? It just about broke her heart to think they weren't on the same page. Then again, thinking back to their awkward kiss five years earlier, maybe they were never on the same page. Maybe they never would be.

"I'll tell ya what, though," Soda said. He was whispering to Jane so quietly and delicately … so that Steve couldn't hear even if he wanted to (and he did). "If I ever figure it out … how to stay around but never grow up … I'm gonna need a Wendy."

Jane flushed. It was happening. It wasn't happening in the way she always dreamt, but it was happening. Soda was coming to see her as more than simply Steve's younger sister.

"Oh?" It was all Jane could eke out.

"Yeah," Soda said. "I don't know who it could be, but I need somebody to help me get my things together. Look after me, ya know, since I can hardly look after myself. Maybe … maybe it could be you, darlin'."

Jane's flush turned a deeper shade of red, and though she tried to ignore her embarrassment and excitement, everyone knew it was no use. She had been in love with Soda before, but now, she loved him more than ever. He wanted her to be his Wendy – at least, he imagined he did. For Jane, at the age of eleven, there was nothing more romantic than the idea of playing Wendy Darling.

She reached for his hand, squeezed it one time, and hoped that he would remember that night.

* * *

_1965_

At sixteen years old, Jane Randle found herself sitting at the Curtis family's dining room table, having a chat with Sadie and their friend, Lucy Bennet, about the family's most recent upset. In December, Mr. and Mrs. Curtis had died in an auto wreck; now, in April, Soda's girl, Sandy, had left him to live with her grandmother in Florida. No one had precisely given the reason why, though every girl of a certain age knew why another girl of a similar age would go to live with her grandmother. She was knocked up.

When Jane first heard (or somewhat heard – the inexactness of their community's language was really something to behold) about Sandy's pregnancy, her stomach twisted itself up into knots. Soda and Sandy had been going steady for a number of years when she broke the news, and though Jane never really knew the truth, it was easy for her to assume that the two of them had gone to intimate places together – places Jane herself had once hoped to share with Soda. But when she learned that the baby wasn't Soda's … that Sandy had stepped out on one of the people she loved most … Jane felt too much of Soda's pain to be relieved.

"He's barely even talking to me," Sadie said. "I don't know what to do when he doesn't talk to me. It's like … I don't know. It's like part of myself doesn't exist anymore. That doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Lucy said. She was a bit of a poet, which Jane both liked and hated about her. She was so sophisticated – too sophisticated to hang out with a crowd of greaser girls, sometimes. Jane wondered why Sadie had been so quick to accept Lucy as her new best friend when she and Jane clearly had more in common and had known each other since, practically, the day the Randles brought Jane home from the hospital. Things had to grow and change, including their friendships, but as Jane inched closer and closer to her inevitable high school graduation, the less she wanted to grow up. The same, she thought, could be said for Soda.

"How about you, Jane?" Sadie asked. "If he's not talking to me or our brothers or even your brother … maybe he's been talking to you?"

Jane shook her head, but she was lying. She and Soda had spoken a few times about what happened between him and Sandy. Nonetheless, Jane knew better than to ever imply that Soda might feel closer (or at least as close as) to someone else than he did to Sadie. In most ways, Sadie had always been the more grown up of the twins. She was better in school and had her sights set on college, though in the wake of her parents' accident, college seemed increasingly less likely for anyone in the family except for Ponyboy. She wasn't as reckless – never drank, never smoked (not even every once in awhile, like Soda could), and never messed around with anybody for fear it would lead to the same consequences Sandy was facing. Sadie always had her head screwed on straight; Soda could lose his from time to time. But when it came to being apart … to discovering what it meant to be their own person outside of their small house and their twinship … Soda was always more prepared than Sadie. If Soda was too far away from her, Sadie felt a little pain. On the contrary, when Soda was farther away from Sadie than usual, Jane couldn't help but think he was secretly, albeit very slightly, relieved.

Either way, she knew it wasn't a good idea to suggest that she was having talks with Soda that Sadie always felt were reserved for a pair of twins. Things were fraught enough in the Curtis house as it was. Jane didn't need to mess with them any further.

In truth, however, she was thrilled to be talking with Soda … that he looked at her like she was someone he could be honest with and someone whom he could trust. It had been years since he'd really looked at Jane like an equal. Really, it felt like years since he had looked at Jane _at all_, considering how long he'd been going steady with Sandy before she'd stepped out on him and been made to move away. He'd told her things … things he hadn't even told Sadie or either of his brothers. One thing, in particular, stuck out for Jane. She hadn't been able to stop wondering what in the world it meant since he'd said it.

"Ya know, Jane," Soda had said. "I'm real sad about Sandy. More than real sad. There's times when I wake up, and it's like … I don't know, it's like I can't even breathe or somethin.'"

"I know," Jane had said. "Sandy's a big part of your life."

She was careful to use the present tense so that Soda didn't feel like she was trying to rush him. He needed to grieve, and if Jane loved him (She did.), she would allot him that time. It would be foolish to try to swoop in, even if there was a part of her that wanted to. Lucy said it was her id. Jane nodded politely and pretended she knew what that meant. Jane hadn't been very good at asking questions then.

But Soda was shaking his head.

"It's more than just that," he'd said. "I was ready to marry her, Janie. I really was. Would have gone through with it and everything. Would have picked out a name. I think I'd have called him Michael, maybe. Sorta after Pony."

"That'd have been real nice. Maybe …"

"There's a part of me that's relieved I don't gotta go through with it. There's a part of me that's glad I ain't gotta be a husband or a daddy right now. There's a part of me that's almost glad she's gone."

Jane felt her lungs lose their air. She didn't know what to say. She'd spent the last two years watching Soda and Sandy fall madly and almost sickeningly in love. She'd spent the last two years lamenting in her diary about how she wished and almost thought Soda would grow to feel that way about her … almost two years since Steve stole her diary and read it out loud, cursing at her for trying to wreck Soda's happiness. She swore that wasn't what she wanted to do. Even now that they were sixteen, and Sandy was gone … she still wanted Soda to be happy. She wanted him to be happy more than she wanted happiness for herself.

She didn't know what to say, so she put her arm around him.

"I don't want to grow up yet, Jane," he said. "I ain't ready."

Jane nodded. It was all she thought she could do. They didn't speak of growing up until the next month.

It was an exceptionally warm day in May when Jane (and Jane alone) went down to the DX for a bottle of Coke. The end of the school year was quickly approaching, and Soda had been absent from their English class that day. Sure enough, he was working behind the counter, waiting to check her out (but only financially – Soda hadn't looked at another girl since Sandy, which irked a part of Jane that she wasn't proud of), missing that smile he used to wear so well. She set the glass bottle down on the counter, which startled him.

"Is it true?" she asked. Her voice was calmer than ever.

"Is what true?"

"Steve said you're droppin' out."

"Well, I'll be."

"What?"

"First time in his life your brother's life he's told the truth about somethin'."

Jane would have laughed if she weren't so worried about Soda. She pushed the bottle of Coke toward him a little further, and he rang it up. He gave her a total, which she promptly paid, but that wasn't enough to make her walk away. When it came to Soda, there was nothing that could ever make Jane walk away, even if she wasn't his girl.

"So, you really mean it," she said. She wasn't asking. She wasn't prying. She was just talking. "You're droppin' out."

Soda nodded. "After the year's over, I'm out. I talked about it with Darry. He's OK with it. He ain't thrilled, but he knows there ain't much else I can do. Besides, I think he feels kinda relieved I'm gonna work full time. Bring home some extra money. We ain't gonna be rich or nothin', and he's still gonna have to work two jobs. But a few extra bucks here and there ain't gonna hurt us. How could it?"

That kind of conversation was enough to break Jane's heart. She remembered when she and Soda were about twelve years old, and he used to tell her that he didn't want to grow up because he didn't want to think about things like having enough money. He said his folks talked about money and whether they had enough of it all the time when he was a kid, and it was something he became afraid of even before he had a concept of it. Money was something that grown-ups had to worry about. So, Soda figured that as long as he could stay a kid, he wouldn't have to take on all the anxieties that his parents had. Jane had agreed. There was a part of her that wanted to grow up, fall in love, and be a mother like lovely Wendy. But if growing up meant yelling terrible and mean things to your spouse in front of your own children everyday, Jane wasn't sure she wanted to grow up, either. She liked to believe her parents must have been in love once. Steve thought she was crazy for thinking that way, but Jane felt like she knew better. After all, she was a girl, and most girls (except for, apparently, Lucy Bennet, who, out of fear that she wouldn't be feminist enough, refused to acknowledge that she and Dallas Winston were constantly flirting) wanted to believe in love.

"You sure you're ready for somethin' like that?" Jane asked.

Soda shrugged and opened Jane's bottle. She wondered if he was trying to get her to leave. He wondered if she knew he was trying to get her to stay.

"Sure," he said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Full-time job. It's a lotta responsibility. You always said you don't wanna grow up. You always said you ain't ready."

Once more, he shrugged.

"I don't know. Looks like I ain't really got another choice. Besides, I don't think you can do much growin' up in a place like this."

"What do you mean?"

"Look around ya. The DX is a place that young guys go for part-time jobs. They wanna save up for cars to take their girls out, and they wanna keep the money rollin' in so they fill up their tanks. So they can take their girls out."

"Ain't that why you started this job?"

"Sure. But the other guys who come in here … even your own brother … they're different from me. They ain't gonna have to work in a gas station their whole lives. They'll go to college or find something that pays better and doesn't make 'em work nights. For most guys, I think that's part of gettin' older."

"I don't know if I get it."

"If I stay here, it'll be a carousel of young guys comin' in and outta this place. I'll keep meetin' 'em. Hearin' what it's like to be young even once I'm not anymore. And I guess … I guess that way I'll never have to grow up. Ya can't really grow up if you work a high schooler's job your whole life. Can ya?"

Jane didn't know what to say, so she took a long drink of her Coke. Part of her wanted Soda to stay young … beautiful, like she was. But the other part of her knew there was only one way to stay young, and that was to stop living. She didn't want Soda to stop living. He was made for so much life. He was made for so much life, and Jane always wanted to share it with him.

"Can I count on you to look after me, darlin'?" he asked.

Finally, Jane removed the bottle from her lips. Soda looked at her with these big, bright rays of hope radiating off his face. They shattered Jane's heart. How was it possible that when Soda looked at her, he was still just a little kid?

She didn't know what to do, so she nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "I'll take care of you. Will you take care of me?"

To that, Soda just chuckled. Jane didn't know how to deal with it, so she interpreted it as a yes and tucked it away in her back pocket.

* * *

_1969_

At twenty years old, Jane Randle desperately wished for Sodapop Curtis to grow up.

A few months after Soda returned home from Vietnam, it seemed like he could only ever manage to speak to Elenore Winston. Jane, who had been dating Soda since the fall of her eleventh-grade year, would have been jealous if Elenore Winston was anything but a two-year-old girl and Lucy Bennet's daughter. After all, Soda was Elenore's godfather, and they'd had a particularly special bond before Soda shipped out. He was trying to reconnect, Jane thought. That was all.

Only it wasn't all, and everyone knew it … especially Jane and Sadie. It almost seemed like Soda wanted to be two years old himself. Jane hated that. He was turning twenty-one years old, and the only person he seemed to be able to communicate with anymore was a little baby. It was concerning. It reminded Jane of all the times Soda had said he never wanted to grow up.

One day, Lucy and Dally left Elenore with Soda and Jane so that they could be alone together. Jane wondered how they could afford that kind of luxury. She figured if she and Soda ever had a kid, they'd never have any time to themselves. They'd run around ragged, like Sadie and Johnny, who were still getting used to their newborn son, Michael. Evidently, Johnny had beaten Soda to that name. He was only a little disappointed when he found out.

All evening long, Soda sat with Elenore on the couch. He quizzed her on various animals and their various sounds and movements. For Elenore, this was a laugh riot (and quite the easy review, as Elenore had inherited her sharp intellect from _both _of her parents – a scary thought to those around them). For Soda, it was a distraction from the new adult life he was supposed to lead. He and Jane had moved into the smallest and shittiest apartment they could afford on both of their wages, and often, Soda was late on the bills. During a heat wave that August, Jane was dismayed to discover that their electricity had been cut, courtesy of Soda's negligence. When she confronted him about it, he shrugged and said that his head wasn't screwed on right yet. Jane wanted to cut him a break. She loved him terribly, and she knew that everyone responded to trauma differently. It didn't change the fact that, selfishly, she wanted him to move on and grow up. She hated herself for that, and she had to keep it to herself. Both Sadie and Steve would berate her for it. The people she loved most would always take his side. It was a terrible thought, but as far as Jane knew, it was true.

Soda and Elenore were playing around as penguins when Lucy and Dally finally came to pick up Elenore. Since Soda's return with a bum leg, he'd been quick to make a lot of childish jokes about it. When Elenore told him he walked funny, Soda told her she could call him her penguin. He'd not been able to give that one up since he said it. Every time they saw each other now, Soda would waddle around like he belonged in a zoo. He was doing exactly that when Lucy and Dally walked through the door of the apartment where Soda and Jane (or at least Jane) tried to be adults. Jane expected either or both of them to make some sort of crack about it, but they pretended (Were they pretending?) like Soda's penguin impression was completely ordinary. Jane was confused, and that was the least of it.

Before Lucy and Dally left with Elenore, Soda looked at the little one and said, "Bye, Elenore! I don't know what sound penguins make, but maybe we can figure it out next time. Can you say _next time_?"

"Next time," Elenore repeated. Her voice was steadier than most two-year-olds, likely due to Lucy's excessive diction coaching at home. No child of hers was going to go very long without being able to verbally express what she wanted from the world, she claimed. At first, Jane thought that was ridiculous. It seemed unfair to force a child to grow up before she was ready. Then, Jane looked at Soda and how he seemed to be enjoying animal time more than the actual toddler in the house. She wondered if maybe Lucy had it right, trying to make Elenore grow up before she even went to school. The opposite was too much of a risk, Jane supposed.

When the Bennet-Winstons were gone, Jane turned to Soda with a strange darkness in her eyes. It was something Soda rarely saw from her, as she was typically bright and happy to be with him. He felt his stomach begin to churn, and he tried to twist his way out of it. She wouldn't allow it. It was time for Jane to speak. It was time for Jane, as a woman, to be heard.

"What are you doing?" she said. She noticed the change in her voice. She was talking like Lucy. Jane _never _talked like Lucy.

"Whaddya mean, darlin'?" Soda asked. His voice sounded unbearably young, just as it had when they were twelve years old, watching _Peter Pan _together on the Curtis family's TV. "I'm just standin' here."

"That's not … that's not what I mean. Since you've been back, you only … it seems like you can only really talk to Elenore."

"I'm tryin' to bond with my goddaughter. She forgot about me when I was over there. Can ya really blame me?"

"No, of course not. But I don't think that's all that's going on."

"You better not be accusin' me of anything fishy, Jane."

"I'm _not_. Jeez. All I'm saying is that you seem to … you seem to want to stay a little kid when I need you to grow up and act like a fucking man!"

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. She never felt so small before.

Soda looked at her. His dark eyes were hurt, and Jane noticed he looked almost like Johnny used to before he and Sadie started going steady. Soda was small. Young. Defeated. It was bizarre. Before, he seemed almost as big as Darry. He was quite a bit slimmer than his older brother and just a tad shorter when you squinted, but in personality … Soda was as big as Zeus sometimes. But that was before. Now that he was back home, he seemed to have shrunk … shrunk into something Jane wasn't sure she knew how to handle. She loved him terribly, and so, she would try. But this new incarnation of Sodapop Curtis … it almost proved too much for Jane to handle.

"You think I ain't a man?"

Jane shook her head.

"You're not acting like … well, you're almost twenty-one years old, and you're not acting like I thought you would once you got back from over there."

"And how'd you think I should act? Ya want me to wake up in the middle of the night tryin' to choke ya? Remember when Steve did that to Evie? You remember how fucked up he felt? How fucked up we _all _felt? You want me to do that to you?"

"Of course I don't want that. I just thought …"

"Ya thought _what_?"

"You made a lot of promises in your letters about how you would be when you got home. What you would do. You sounded great in your letters."

"Sorry to disappoint you, then."

"Soda, don't do this."

"No, I wanna know. We're in this, and I wanna know. What did I say in my letters? Huh? What did I say in my letters that I ain't lived up to now that I've been back? I'm workin'. I'm gettin' paid more than I was when I left. More cars. More hours. More money. I'm providin' for you. Ain't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, it is. But …"

"But what? What else didn't I do, Jane? Fucking tell me, or I'm gonna pass out!"

"YOU SAID YOU WOULD MARRY ME!"

The room got deathly quiet. Jane quickly worried that their neighbors would call the police because they'd been making such a ruckus; then she remembered where they lived. No one cared about domestic ruckus. It was sad, but in that moment, Jane was eerily thankful for the apathy. She closed her eyes and wanted the tears to well up and spill forward. They never came. She was too numb to cry. Every time she tried to form a sentence, she just made awkward sounds. Suddenly, she was the child.

After a long moment or two, she looked up to see Soda. He was standing in front of her, calm as ever. He nodded a few times, like he was trying to process what Jane had blurted. It wasn't a lie, either. Once Soda finally mustered up enough courage to write to Jane, he always mentioned how much he wanted to marry her when he returned home. When he got home, he was scared … scared of what it meant to be a real man. He couldn't go back to the way things were before he left. He'd seen too much. He'd seen men – friends – die right in front of him. He'd feared for his own life, gripping his leg with more pain than he'd ever felt in a rumble back home. He didn't think he could carry on after that. It was easier to slip into a life of playing penguin. It was easier to pretend he didn't remember his desire to marry Jane Randle. She was too grown up for him.

Yet, there she was. She was beautiful as ever and asking him to love her. How could he turn her away? Even if he felt fragile … even if he felt like he wanted to go back and be nineteen years old forever … how could he turn Jane away?

"OK," he croaked.

Jane looked up from her foggy dismay.

"OK?"

"OK. We'll get married."

"Are you…?"

"Yeah. I am."

They were married down at city hall not two weeks later. It wasn't the romantic proposal Jane had spent her entire childhood dreaming of. She would spend the rest of her life trying to convince herself that it was more mature that way – the way it really happened. Never, of course, did she figure out if that was true.

* * *

_1985_

At thirty-six years old, Jane Randle wondered what it would be like to die.

Only one of her and Soda's children was meticulously planned – their eldest, Tuesday Evelyn Curtis. She was born in Austin, Texas, on April 16, 1975. Jane and Soda visited Steve and Evie in Austin to celebrate Steve's birthday on the 15, and lo and behold, his present was his very first niece. Jane and Soda had been trying to have a baby for about a year before Jane finally got knocked up with Tuesday. She felt like a miracle. Still, almost immediately after she was born, their friends and family demanded to know if they wanted to have another one. Jane said that she was definitely open to it, but she didn't think it would be for a few years.

Tigerlily Frances was born on December 7, 1976. Jane picked her name.

Tennessee Lucille followed on February 10, 1978, and Tupelo Marie was born on August 19, 1980. After Tupelo, Jane figured she was done having babies. She'd been constantly pregnant since the mid-1970s, and she was certain that Soda was tired of bathing in constant estrogen. They liked to joke that his youth and adolescence inside nothing but testosterone was the best time of his life. Nonetheless, they knew it wasn't. Soda was at his happiest being a father, especially a father to four daughters. He was sensitive enough to take care of them and give them real, heartfelt advice – advice Dally could never give Elenore when she was young, no matter how much he loved her. Jane knew that Dally envied Soda's feminine side a little, though no one would ever speak of it. Either way, Soda was an excellent father to his beautiful daughters, and now that they were growing older, Jane figured they were done with babies.

And then, on June 10, 1985, they had Troy.

Troy was Jane and Soda's last child and only son. He was a gorgeous little baby. He came out with Soda's golden-brown hair and Jane's tiny little smile. When he learned to laugh, anyone around him could see that he would grow up to have incredible charisma. Everyone who met that little boy was absolutely in love with him … except for his mother.

It wasn't that Jane didn't love her son. She did. She thought he was a lovely little boy. Yet, she couldn't make herself fall madly in love with him like she did with her four daughters. When she looked at him on a good day, she felt tired; any other day, she felt nothing. The only thing Jane was feeling anymore was contempt for herself. All she wanted was to be a better mother. All she wanted was to come out of her room … to talk to her family the way she used to. She wanted to get help. Despite the fact that the Bennet-Winstons had lived in New York City for fifteen years already, she wanted to reach out to Lucy. After all, Lucy knew how this felt. But even though Jane knew she should reach out to the people who loved her and could talk her through what she was feeling (or _not _feeling, which was the scariest part), she couldn't make herself do it. She was left with shame. What if Lucy had changed her mind about reproductive rights and women's health, and now, she thought Jane was a villain for not being able to connect with her son? What if everyone thought she was a demon? She certainly felt like one. What was the point in being a mother if she couldn't _be a mother_?

It was an important question, she thought. It was an important question that, for a time, only seemed to have one answer. If she couldn't be a mother – the kind of mother that Soda's son deserved – then she simply wouldn't _be _at all.

When she woke up in the hospital, though, she was relieved. There was some beeping to indicate her increasing heart rate, and then, she saw Soda standing over her. Much to her surprise, he was smiling.

"Hey, darlin'," he said.

"Soda," Jane said. She tried to sit up, but she couldn't quite manage.

"I'm glad you're up," he said.

Jane furrowed her brow. She had expected Soda to be disappointed. Everyone was going to know. She was alive, but she still hadn't escaped the shame and guilt she felt for not being able to love her son the way she could love her daughters when they were first born. In fact, the shame and guilt were only stronger. She balled her hands into fists as though that would do anything. Soda immediately noticed and unfurled her hands for her.

"Don't," Soda said. His gentle voice was a bit childish, but in that moment, his forced innocence was very welcome. "Don't feel like you gotta fight anything. You're here. That's all that counts."

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

"Mad at you? Jane, I … I'm mad at me."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"I shoulda seen how you were strugglin' with Troy. You seemed so … not Jane. Normally you got this light behind your eyes. Ya know? It wasn't there. I didn't know what to do, and by the time I called Lucy for help, since she's been through stuff like this … you were already in the bathroom."

Jane nodded. She never wanted to go into that bathroom again. The thought of the faucet made her blood run cold and her stomach go sick.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Jane said.

"I don't know, either," Soda said. "But we're gonna fix it. You're gonna fix it, and I'm gonna help."

Jane shook her head. She reached out and grabbed Soda's hands. He seemed like a grown-up.

* * *

_2009_

At sixty years old, Jane Randle wondered if she could ever feel this happy again.

She and Soda had been married for forty years, and in honor of the occasion, everyone got together in Tulsa – even the people who now lived far away. When you celebrated Sodapop Curtis, it seemed like the only thing you could do was drop everything and come to see him. Jane couldn't have been more overwhelmed with love than she was at that party. As a little girl, this day had seemed impossible. Now, as a grown-up mother, it seemed like she always knew, secretly, that this was the life she was meant to lead.

Elenore, as always, played the DJ at the party. Her daughter, Veronica (age fourteen), wanted to play a few songs, but Elenore wouldn't let her. Troy, who was twenty-four at the time, slid up to the DJ booth to taunt Veronica about her mother's rejection.

"C'mon, Veronica," he said. "You can't expect your mom to let you play something stupid like _Hannah Montana _at my parents' _fortieth wedding anniversary_, do you?"

"I don't even like Hannah Montana, Troy!" Veronica yelled.

"Then how come you were watching her show last night when you were at my folks' house?"

"It was the only thing on!"

"Likely story."

Jane walked up to the DJ booth and pulled her fully-grown son away from Veronica Winston, who could probably hospitalize him if she was in the right mood. After all, Veronica took after Dally more than even Elenore did. She narrowed her eyes at her son, whom she loved very deeply but who always seemed to secretly _know _what she had done after he was born, and spoke to him sternly.

"Troy," she said. "Don't give Veronica a hard time about her tastes."

"But they're _bad_!"

"And you still live with your parents. Veronica, you wanna give my son a hard time about that?"

Veronica smacked her hands together like an archetypal evil genius, and while Jane cackled, Troy rolled his eyes and sulked off. Ever since he went to college, it seemed like he resented Jane and Soda just for being themselves. Jane didn't understand it, and because she was still a little too caught up in her guilt, she never confronted him about it. She never even had the nerve to consider that Troy _wanted _her to confront him about it. She was content to imagine him like the little boy who didn't know any better. Contrary to her desires, Troy had grown up.

While Jane sighed thinking about her son as an adult, Elenore leaned over and showed her a particular CD. She pointed to a track, and Jane nodded.

"Is this the right one?" Elenore asked.

"Can't ya see I'm noddin', Elenore?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go on. Grab Uncle Soda."

Jane smiled and waltzed over to her husband, who was entertaining his brothers with a story about the last car he worked on. It was a famous country star, but he wasn't allowed to say who it was. When Soda noticed Jane was standing beside him, he broke out into the biggest grin she'd seen from him in a long, long time. Even now that she was sixty years old, Sodapop Curtis's movie-star grin still broke and melted her heart.

"I think I'm gonna need to ask you for a dance," Jane said.

"Really? Well, darlin', it's tradition for the man to ask the lady."

"Ah, screw tradition."

"Screw tradition? I barely know her. Besides, I've been very happily married for forty years. Maybe you know her."

Jane leaned forward and pressed the bridge of her nose against Soda's. It felt just like being sixteen years old again. Her back hurt a little more, and her stomach was covered in stretch marks from giving birth to five children. Regardless, the flutter in her heart was just as youthful and as powerful as when she was six years old, giving Sodapop Curtis his first kiss over a _Peter Pan _record.

"Your sense of humor is a child's," Jane said.

"That may be, but you love it."

"God help me."

Suddenly, Elenore spoke into a microphone, allowing her big, Bennet-Winston voice to fill the room.

"Can I have everyone's attention, please?" she asked.

"THAT'S MY DAUGHTER!" Dally, who was a bit drunk in the back of the room, yelled out. He'd been proud of that for over forty years, but it was one of the very rare times he bothered to show it in front of anyone else.

"Thanks, Dad," Elenore laughed, a little awkward. "Anyway, I think it's about time our happy couple had their first dance of the evening. Here's a little song that means a lot to them."

The familiar sound of "A Whiter Shade of Pale" began to play, and everyone in the room burst out laughing. They melted away from the floor, leaving it for Jane and Soda to dance. It was the song they danced to in the Curtis family's backyard on the night they were married. The song was on the radio, and it had a pretty melody. Back then, that was all they needed.

"I can't believe this has to go down in history as _our song_," Jane said.

"Believe it, darlin'."

"It doesn't make any sense. Have you listened to the lyrics?"

"Not really."

"Not _once_? Not once in the _forty years_ we've been married?"

"I guess not. I've been a little more focused on the beautiful girl in front of me."

Even after forty years (and more like sixty), Jane still had to blush when Sodapop Curtis called her beautiful. It made her feel like she'd never left the Neverland of their old neighborhood.

"Just listen for a second."

"What?"

"You won't regret it, Soda, trust me."

Soda paused for a moment, and then, as quickly as he stopped, he made a face.

"What the fuck is a vestal virgin?" he asked.

"No one knows. It's the beauty. Or the ugliness. Generally, I think it's both."

"Both is good."

Jane laughed and held her husband a little tighter. Her _husband_. The novelty of being able to call him that would never wear off. It was a fantasy she'd had since she was a little girl, and if she could cling onto that one childhood memory, she would. She was feeling too old lately.

"How's it feel?" Jane asked.

"How's what feel?"

"You know. Bein' married forty years. Gettin' older. How's it feel?"

Soda shook his head. He looked like he was about sixteen again.

"It's like I told you when we were kids, and I was droppin' outta school," he said. "I ain't never gonna feel old."

"Because you work with young guys, still?"

"Nah. I mean, I used to think so, but I don't think that's it no more."

"What is it, then?"

Soda paused for a moment, trying to figure out the most profound way to tell Jane what he felt. Finally, he swallowed. He found it.

"I think it's you," he said. "You and our kids, even if they ain't kids anymore."

"Troy still lives in his old room," Jane pointed out (mostly because she wished he could get a job already – Pony really shouldn't have encouraged him to get that English degree in the middle of a recession).

"Yeah, maybe, but that ain't it. I'm thinkin' … when I look at you, I love you the same way I did when I was sixteen. Maybe even younger than that. The things we do together … they get older, that's for sure. You weren't worryin' about me gettin' a colonoscopy when I was sixteen."

"Did ya have to make this moment gross?"

"Yeah, I did. It's what I do. The point is … I'm still every bit as in love with you now as I was when I was a kid. And because of that … I still feel like I ain't ever gotta grow up. And that's pretty fuckin' sweet."

Jane grinned.

"You wrote that line days ago, didn't you?"

"Parts of it. Some parts were improvised."

"Come here."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Several hoots and hollers sounded off around them, but Jane and Soda managed to ignore them. In that moment, they were the only two people in the room – maybe the universe, regardless of the cliché. Sometimes, as Lucy would tell them a little later, clichés were accurate. In that moment, they didn't need to grow up.

And in retrospect, Jane should have stayed in that moment just a little bit longer.

* * *

_2017_

At sixty-seven years old, Jane Randle wasn't sure if she could go on alone.

She was the first of her friends to lose a spouse. Lucy still had Dally; Sadie still had Johnny. No one from the old gang had died before Sodapop Curtis, two days after Christmas in 2016, which appeared to be one of the worst years in American history. Jane's presidential vote hadn't seemed to count, given she lived in Oklahoma, a state so red you could have sworn it was embarrassed by all of its regressive politics. David Bowie died that January. Carrie Fisher died on the same day as Soda did, quickly followed by Debbie Reynolds. And now, Jane Curtis was a widow.

It didn't seem fair. Darry was more than three years older. Dally had been more violent. Ponyboy smoked until he was fifty years old. God didn't seem to take any of that into account when Soda died. God didn't seem to take any of that into account when Jane found herself wandering out to her (now late) husband's headstone. She would have knelt beside it, but her body was aging as fast as her spirit was these days. She would have creaked too loudly and been in too much pain. Maybe that would have been a good thing. Maybe she'd get to stay there with Soda.

She looked down at his headstone and pored over the words, which she'd carefully chosen at his request. There was his name. There was his legacy (Loving Brother, Husband, Father, and Friend). And there were his dates. October 8, 1948 – December 27, 2016. He hadn't even made seventy. What kind of twisted world took Sodapop Curtis out of it before he could even make seventy? It felt evil. Jane wanted to throw her head back and screech, but she didn't. The last thing the security guards needed was to think this woman was going to fall down and die when they didn't even have a hole dug out for her yet.

"You're a real dick, you know that?" she said. "You left me here all alone. Sadie's here, I guess, but she won't even talk to me. It's just like when you went to Vietnam. She and I are in some stupid contest over who's grieving you more, and I hate to have to say it, but I think I'm winning. Do you think I'm winning?"

No reply. Jane sort of laughed. Part of her had been expecting him to pipe up.

"I miss you so much," she said. It was the most obvious sentence ever to come out of her mouth, except for when he was alive (_when he was alive_), and she would tell him she loved him. "I miss you more than anything. Nothing is the same without you. Watching TV is different. Making fun of Troy and his trends is different. Everything is different because you ain't there. And it bites, babe. It really bites."

She bit down on her lip, trying to embrace the cold wind. She wasn't done talking to Soda yet.

"I've been thinking a lot about our first kiss when we were six, ya know that?" she asked. She wondered if Soda was omniscient now that he was in heaven. "Well, even if you do, I'm gonna tell you. See, I've been thinkin' about how you gave me that _Peter Pan _record and how it meant everything to me. And then I was thinkin' about how a few years later, when you were watchin' part of that _Peter Pan _musical on TV with me, and you said if you weren't gonna grow up, you needed somebody to look after you like Wendy did for Peter. You needed somebody to be a mother. Well, I didn't want to be _your _mother because I wanted to be your wife. But I wanted to be the mother of your children, even if sometimes it felt like I didn't. I love being their mother. I love being your wife, even if you ain't here to enjoy the perks of that anymore. I'm always gonna be your wife, so don't worry about me movin' on too quickly. I ain't movin' on at all. All I'm sayin' is thank you for lettin' me take care of our family. Thank you for bein' part of our family. I got nothin' more to say other than _thank you_."

Jane closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She let the cold wind wrap her up and almost comfort her. Perhaps it was Soda's spirit hanging out in the cemetery. Perhaps it was nothing more than the wind. Jane tried not to think about it too much, otherwise she'd drive herself out of her mind. No, when Jane closed her eyes on that wintery afternoon, she felt much younger. Maybe Soda was right. Maybe it was powerful to feel young even when you weren't anymore. Maybe growing up wasn't something you had to do all at once without looking back. Maybe growing up was reserved for those special moments. In the other moments, you could be as six or sixteen or sixty as you wanted to be. With her eyes shut tightly in the cemetery that day, Jane decided she liked that thought. She might share it with Sadie and Lucy (though probably not).

When she opened her eyes, Jane swore she heard two words in the air, but to keep her sanity intact, she told herself it was just a strange rustling in the trees.

_Thanks, darlin'_.

* * *

**And that's that on that! It was another treatise, which doesn't surprise me. I'm sorry if it wasn't as much about Jane herself as it could have been, but I'm still working on her character. It's hard to write a piece about an OC without thinking about that character's relationship to one of the canon characters. In the case of **_**two **_**of my original characters, that canon character they share a bond with just **_**happens **_**to be Soda. So he gets a lot of narrative attention.**

**Either way, I commend you if you stuck it out for this long!**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. The song that Jane and Soda dance to at their anniversary party is "A Whiter Shade of Pale" by Procol Harum, which I also don't own. I own a pair of fuzzy shorts with Cookie Monster on them, but I don't own Cookie Monster. This could start a vicious cycle, so I'm going to end it there.**


End file.
